Two Psychopaths
by guineapiggie
Summary: "They had fallen into a pattern and there was no way for either of them to break the circle; they loved each other and they betrayed each other because they had to, they hurt one another and in the end it was all forgiven. They stabbed each other in the back- and they would have each other's back for all eternity" Inspired by "Love The Way You Lie Pt II". Rated T for violence. DARK


**Two Psychopaths **

**DISCLAIMER**: I hold no rights whatsoever to the song or the show. This was written for the purpose of entertainment only.

**WARNING**: If you have a problem with descriptions of violence, you should not read this. (And you probably shouldn't listen to the song, either.)

_***A/N* Well, I actually meant to write a happy one about them. That didn't really work out… Anyways, I discovered this perfect fanvid on Youtube and just had to write something. (Search for "Klaus&Caroline|Love The Way You Lie" by **__**xXWhisperOfDreamsXx for the video.)  
Suppose if you've listened to the song, it might help understanding the story. Oh, and you may notice I'm quite fascinated with one of Klaus's tattoos (or Joseph's, I don't know *lol*).**_

_**I have written a happier one-shot about these two that you can find on my profile.**_

* * *

_Even angels have their wicked schemes  
__And you take that to new extremes  
But you'll always be my hero  
Even though you've lost your mind_

-from "Love the Way You Lie Part Two" by Rihanna

* * *

She followed the flight of the birds with her eyes, listening to the rustling and the flapping of their wings.

Their feathers shimmered jet-black and their little beaks gleamed like polished iron, their tips sharp as knives. They were of a sinister, twisted beauty - she found it terrifying just how much she admired them, despite all that darkness and cruelty about them.

_Don't underestimate the allure of darkness. Even the purest hearts are drawn to it. _His words seemed a lifetime ago, but sadly that didn't make them any less true.

_._

After last night, she could almost feel the silence around them like something physical, like a cool wind soothing her sore skin. When she finally tore her eyes off the black birds, she found the room in even more of a mess than she had expected it to be: the two holes near the door where he'd put his fists through the wall, the red wine all over the expensive wooden floor, the heavy curtains halfway torn off the rod and their clothes strewn all over the room. The rays of sunlight that were streaming through the window made the colourful shards of glass glitter like diamonds.

They looked so precious, she thought dazedly; the green glass of the wine bottle scattered emerald sparks all over the floor, the dried blood on the remnants of the coffee table painted ruby red patterns on the oak wood.

.

Never had she heard him scream like that; the high, clear sound of the shattering glass and the disbelief flashing in his eyes had felt like another blow to the face. She hadn't meant to - not that he'd believed her - had never meant to hurt him, for God's sake, one didn't actually expect an Original to lose his balance, right? She'd just pushed him off her, she hadn't meant for any of this to happen.

But they never meant to hurt one another, and one should think by now they would have learned how it ended every time.

It had taken ages to dig the fragments out of his skin and she had hardly seen what she was doing through the veil of tears. Half the time he had been yelling, the other assuring her it had been his fault all along; and she had yelled back, their raised voices tormenting her aching head.

And for a while they'd just stood there, in the far corners of the room; him shouting and raging (and she'd been so glad it was the wall that had to take his anger this time), her speaking quieter and quieter with each second, but her words aimed right at his heart. He'd just stared at her then, that helpless rage still in his eyes, and watched her tears chasing each other across her cheeks.

Next, just like that, it was all over.

"I'm sorry," she'd whispered in his shirt, again and again. She'd felt so bad about what she had done to him, so dreadfully ashamed.

He'd just shaken his head and caressed her hair. "It's not your fault, love," he'd answered quietly while slowly wiping away the tears. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have-"

She'd silenced him there, because what use were these conversations? The next night, they'd end up exactly like that anyway; and then they would try to take their words and their actions back, would beg for forgiveness because none of them had any idea how they could have gone this far.

It wasn't like they didn't try; it wasn't like they didn't mean their apologies, either. It was just that in the end, they weren't good for each other. He was far too violent, far too impulsive to handle her, and she was too stubborn and too strong-willed to just let him have his way.

But she was just as incapable of leaving as he was. They had fallen into a pattern and there was no way for either of them to break the circle; they loved each other and they betrayed each other because they had to, they hurt one another and in the end it was all forgiven.  
If anyone but her were to put a knive in his back, Klaus would have killed them. But the knowledge that, sooner or later, he was going to do something similar to her seemed to be enough for him. She knew she was priviledged. And he was as well - she might not have had revenge like he would, but he was the only one whom she would _forgive _all those terrible things he'd said and done to her and others.  
That was just how it was, they would stab each other in the back again and again - and they would have each other's backs for all eternity.

Maybe they weren't good for each other. Maybe Elena had been right, maybe it was poisonous. Maybe it would be the death of her eventually. But despite everything, he still was her hero, the one who'd come for her when she had thought all hope was lost. And he still loved her, idolised her though she had no idea what it was that he found so remarkable about her.

Sometimes she caught herself wishing she was human again. Not for the obvious reasons - she was okay with the blood thing and eternal life had its perks, too. No, it was just that, were she still human, he would have probably killed her long ago. Maybe not even on purpose, but one way or the other he would have killed her. It was only in her darkest moments that she had these thoughts, and she tried to ignore them - God, this wasn't who she was. She was Caroline Forbes, damn it, she was _positive. _She didn't think about _dying._

.

At first, she had felt like a prisoner in the mansion. Maybe because she'd felt like she was constantly being watched, like he could see every last thing she did. Maybe because he'd been so sure she would stay that for a long, long time she had not even tried to come near the exit.

When she had finally snuck out of his room, some early morning in January, it had been with the greatest caution that she had approached the massive front door. Looking back, she wasn't really sure what she'd been expecting - vervain on the door handle, perhaps, or Klaus catching her in the act. She had learned to fear his anger very, very quickly.

But the handle had been just fine, and when she had carefully pushed it down, it hadn't resisted one bit. The huge entrance door had swung open without a sound, leaving in a rush of crisp morning air.

It was only then, with freedom right there in front of her, that she had realised two crucial things:

Firstly, if she was to leave now, nobody would come after her.

Because, secondly, it had never been the walls that were holding her back; and nobody was keeping her prisoner, either.

He'd found her what had felt like hours later, sitting next to the door in the freezing entrance hall, sobbing like she hadn't since she had been a small child. It was so _stupid, _half the time she was scared to death and wished to be anywhere but in this haunted castle - so why couldn't she bring herself to leave? Was she really this much of a masochist?

He had not asked a single question, he'd just closed the door and sat down next to her, wrapping her up in his arms.

And she had stayed.

.

.

He shifted slightly and his hand that had been resting on her neck wandered up to stroke her hair out of her eyes. The sudden movement stirred up the flock of birds.

"You can rest, love, I'll clean this up," he muttered, an apologetic smile tugging at the corner of his lips as his eyes fell on the wake of destruction the previous night had left behind.

She felt too tired to argue and allowed him to push her limp body off him, already halfway asleep again.

For a while, all she could hear was the soft noises of him picking up the fragments, then something cluttered back to the floor and his fingers closed around her shoulder a little too tightly.

"Caroline."

"Hm?" she murmured without opening her eyes. She felt so tired, she had to sleep, didn't he understand… surely last night had been just as exhausting for him…

"When did that- why didn't you tell me you needed-"

The accusation in his tone, and the anxiety that bled through every syllable, forced her to open her eyes. He sat crouched next to the bed, slight shock written over his handsome features.

The birds fluttered up and down nervously.

"What?" she asked languidly.

"I- I didn't realise I had-" It seemed to take all his strength to utter those few confused words. He took a deep breath and began again, his voice soft and very quiet. "You know that I would _never_ - no matter the circumstances - that I would never deny you my help, don't you?"

"'course," she answered, a little confused but too tired to ask what the hell he was even talking about.

"Then why didn't you ask for it?" There was a harder edge to his tone now.

"I don't… don't understand," she stammered. She felt slightly dizzy now, and the fluttering crows were making it even worse.

His jaw tightened, but he didn't reply. Instead, he sat down at the edge of the mattress again, slit his wrist with a swift, almost experienced, bite and pressed it to her lips before she could argue. His free hand stroked an especially sore patch of skin on her shoulder, still with that rueful look on his face.

It was only when the hot blood ran down her throat that she realised the birds had been an hallucination.

.

.

There was something she had once said to him. She could still remember the unspoken promise her words had contained, how there had been something incredibly comforting about them, and she still knew how they had moved him to tears.

Whenever it got really bad, there was this one thing that felt stronger than the pain and the hurt about whatever it was they had become.

And that thing was hope.

She hoped so much that those words were true.

.

.

.

_(Anyone capable of love is capable of being saved.)_

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